Dealing With It
by Simon920
Summary: Part ten of the My Word series. Roy and Dick are involved so if this bothers you, move along, please. Yup, it's slash. In this installment, Roy reacts badly to their being outted.


Part 10 in the My Word series

**Here there be slash, matey's be warned.**

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Dealing With It**

Dick went to school the next day, fueled with more caffeine that he normally needed but managed to keep a lid on the buzz and the coffee shakes; good thing Bruce didn't know how much he consumed in a normal day. Roy had still been sleeping when he'd gotten up and dressed and so they hadn't spoken, but they'd keep clearing the air as soon as he got home. Unless Roy had to work late or something, which had been happening a lot more than it used to. Roy kept volunteering for overtime because he hated feeling like he was just a freeloader around the Manor—not that anyone would say anything, and he insisted on paying what he thought was a reasonable share. Well, sort of reasonable, anyway.

The press response to their announcement was still way out of control but there were hints that it would slow down in a few days or a week or so. Thank God Angelina had the baby last night and Dick was considering sending her a thank you card and a bunch of flowers for taking the heat off them for now. On second thought, maybe a donation to an Africa hospital would be more appreciated. Now if Britney would just get pregnant again or Green Lantern was arrested for some sex crime they'd be in the clear as far as the tabloids were concerned.

"Hey Alf, where's Roy?"

"I believe he left around ten to go to his place of employment. He neglected to mention when he'd return. Please hang that up if you would, Master Dick, you do not live in a barn."

Jacket in the coat closet instead of on a chair, Dick called Roy's number on his cell. "Roy?"

"He didn't show up again today. You see him, tell him he can pick up his last check and clean out his locker. You got that?"

"'Again'? You mean he's been missing work?"

"He ain't shown up in a week and he was hit and miss for at least a month before that. You see him, tell him he's through and not to come back nosing around for another chance."

What the hell? "Why are you answering his phone?"

"Because he left it here and I had this idea it might have been him calling to get his stupid phone back, okay? Now you gonna tell me where he is or you gonna waste more of my time?"

Roy was blowing off work? But just last night he was saying how he liked the job, how he was glad he'd found it and how much he appreciated the money. What the hell was going on and where the hell was he when he said he was on the job?

"Alfred? How did he get to work?"

"I believe he drove himself in the Buick. It did not sound healthy." That was the old beater Ollie found for him a year ago which didn't sound healthy—Roy was fine. It was hanging together through willpower more than anything and though Bruce had offered him the use of one of the other cars, he had consistently refused.

"Maybe it broke down or something." Maybe. That could explain why he hadn't gotten to work, at least why he hadn't gotten to work today, anyway but he would have called if he'd needed a tow or something. What about the last month, the 'hit or miss' stuff? And why was Roy lying to him all this time about working? If there was a problem with his job they could have talked about it; he could have changed jobs or gone back to school or something. This didn't make sense. They didn't have secrets, they talked about everything with one another and after last night…

"Yes, perhaps. Might you want to trace the vehicle?" Of course. All the cars in Bruce's garage had tracking sensors installed. Three minutes later Dick was down in the cave with the computer accessing the GPS system that indicated Roy's car was on Route 80 headed west through Pennsylvania, about two hundred miles away and still moving. Damn.

Next he went up to their shared room and took a look in the walk in closet and, just as he'd suspected, one of the larger duffels and a bunch of Roy's clothes were gone. Sensing he wasn't alone, Dick turned around to find Alfred in the doorway. "Did you see him taking anything out of here?"

"No, Master Dick, I didn't, but then I don't always know what's going on when I'm not present."

Dick gave him an appraising look because that was about the last thing in the world he'd expect from or believe coming from Alf. He knew _everything_ that went on in the house and he knew even more about the lives of the people living there. "You know something." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"I assure you, Master Roy confided no plans to me nor did he include me in anything which he may have intended to do."

"You know something. C'mon, Alfred—where's he going?"

Alfred looked down at the carpet, stalling and if it were anyone else, he probably would have shuffled his feet as well. "Forgive me sir, but I gave my word not to reveal that. Master Roy expressly asked that I keep that information to myself and only informed me in the event of what he termed a dire emergency." No, Roy probably said something about keeping his moth closed unless the shit hit the fan, but a rose by any other name and all of that. Either way, Alfred knew and he wasn't telling because a gentleman's word was his bond; Dick had been hearing that since he'd moved into the Manor eight years ago. Alfred wouldn't be moved.

Shit.

"He's headed west—Arizona? Is he going back to where he was raised, is that it?" It would make sense if he did; no reporters, the middle of nowhere, no one other than old and close friends knowing that he might even be there at all. "Did he leave a note or anything?" He wouldn't have just left without a word, even Roy couldn't be that boneheaded and God knew he was capable of being a total ass. And he couldn't have just left. He wouldn't do that, either, not without a single word, for God's sake.

Okay, clearly he would.

"I know of no message, Master Dick, but I believe he said something about wanting to stop in at Wayne Headquarters this morning after he finished his breakfast. Perhaps the Master knows something about this, if I may suggest."

Dick gave him a filthy, disbelieving look. "You knew this and it's just now coming out? Goddamn it, Alfred—you knew Bruce knows something and you let me spin my wheels?" He was beyond furious, possibly the first time ever regarding Alfred. "Anything else you may have forgotten to mention? Anything else slip you mind while we're at it?"

"My deepest apologies for you distress, Master Dick, but I am merely following Master Roy's request to not let you know about his decision until at least four this afternoon. I gave him my word." The hands of the clock stood at two minutes after four.

"Damnit and thanks a helluva lot. He's headed back out west, isn't he?" Christ, was he back on drugs? He'd been so good about that; he'd quit cold turkey, he'd been clean for over a year.

"Master Dick, I've already told you in all truth that he declined to confide in me his destination."

"Fuck you, Alf." Alfred's face didn't register the obscenity or the insult or even the anger and hurt from Dick, he simply retreated to the kitchen and Dick felt immediately guilty about the outburst, but damn…How the hell could Alfred have agreed to this? How could he have let Roy go without even telling…Goddamnit. He knew what was at stake, he knew how much Roy meant to Dick, how much he loved him. Jesus, they were lovers, they were in love and they'd just been outted to the entire planet and so if Roy took off that means—what? What does it mean? That either Roy couldn't take the heat of the world's press of he didn't think it was worth it to bother trying. Yes, sure it was easier to run away but he knew that if they were going to be together then they had to make a united stand. They even had the entire Justice League, the entire Titans membership and a huge contingent of fans behind them. He didn't have to leave. He didn't have to run away. They could do this. _They _could. Roy wasn't alone in this any more than Dick was. The hard part was over now, the secret was out and now all they had to do was ride the crest for a while until some other one hit wonder story came along—and they always came along. They just had to wait a week or so and they'd be pushed off the front pages and Roy knew that. They'd talked about that, in fact. They'd even laughed about it.

But…

Maybe Roy didn't want to. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd gotten tired of the whole thing. Maybe he was tired of Dick.

No. Dick would have known if that was the case. Last night—last night had been fantastic and he would have known if Roy didn't want to be there. They'd spent about two hours straight making love—no, not just fucking; making love and Dick would have known if Roy was faking that. He wasn't. No way. It wasn't possible. After the third time, when they were both exhausted and falling asleep and Dick was about to pull out of Roy's body and settle in, Roy had whispered, asked if Dick would stay inside of him and so he had. He'd wrapped his arms around Roy gently, pressed his chest against Roy's back, kissed the back of his neck and they'd fallen asleep joined. Sometime during the night Dick remembered waking, opening his eyes to find Roy inches away, watching him and in the half light, still sleepy, asked if anything was wrong. Why wasn't he still asleep? He'd smiled and raised his hand to push the hair out of Dick's eyes. "Nothing's wrong, I'm fine, go back to sleep."

In the morning Dick didn't wake Roy. He'd gotten up quietly for school, showered, dressed and left the room without disturbing him, knowing he wasn't supposed to be at work for another hour. It was just a normal night, followed by a normal morning.

Maybe that was just Roy saying goodbye without fanfare or upset. But _why_? They were good together, they'd made plans for the next year when Dick was going off to college, they'd been through the worst already with the forced outing—what was this about?

All right, screw this; time to find out.

He picked up one of the secure phones, dialed Bruce's rarely called direct line at the office. After almost ten rights it was finally picked up, "Mr. Wayne's office, how may I help you?"

"Bridgett? It's Dick, is he there? It's important."

"Hi, sweetheart, I'm sorry, but he's not here—he had to fly up to Albany for a sudden emergency up there at one of the plants. Do you have his cell number?"

"I've got it, thanks." If anyone knew, even if Alfred wouldn't talk, Bruce would know what was going on. He dialed again, this time getting through, skipping the small talk. "Bruce? Where's Roy going and why did he leave? Did you say something to him?"

"He didn't say anything to me other than he thought it would be a good idea if you two stepped back for a couple of months to diffuse the publicity and concentrate on things other than your personal lives." No 'hello, Dick'. No 'I know you're upset'—nothing.

"And I should believe this because why?"

"For the simple reason that it's the truth. Look, I can't discuss this right now. We can talk about it when I get home." Dick heard a muffled voice as Bruce was probably listening to someone across whatever room he was in. "I have to go, but we'll straighten this out later. I'll be back by eight or so, we'll talk then." The line was cut. Typical Bruce.

Dick went back down to the cave, checked the GPS again and made another call. "Hi, Clark? I need a favor if you can spare a couple of minutes…"

Ten minutes later they were standing by Roy's old car, pulled into a rest stop and surrounded by family's traveling with kids and dogs and truckers wanting to get back on the road after bathroom breaks and cheap fried chicken.

Clark held back, out of uniform and just sitting quietly about fifty feet away on a bench under a tree. Of course he could hear what they were saying, he could hear what they were saying if they were in Hong Kong. It was awkward, Roy wouldn't meet Dick's eyes and looked at the ground. Christ, what was this about? "Roy—what's going on?"

"It's…I dunno. It's getting too weird for me, y'know?"

Shit. "The outting is getting weird or being with me is getting weird?" Nothing. "C'mon, Roy. What the fuck is going on here? Are you walking out or are you just running away?"

He took a breath, looked around to make sure no one—other than Clark—was in hearing distance, that no one seemed to have any cameras trained on them. "…I hate this, y'know? It's not what I thought this would be like. I guess I maybe didn't think, okay? But this is…shit, this is just bullshit."

"It's gonna die down, Roy, you know that, we both know that."

"When?"

"Soon. C'mon, we talked about this. A week, maybe a month, tops and then we'll be boring and no one will care. It's just a flash in the pan." Dick would do whatever he could think of to calm Roy down. If this were just a panic thing, then he'd get over it. If it was something else, he'd probably get in the car and keep going. "You still want to be with me, don't you? I mean, you haven't changed your mind or anything, have you?"

"No. God, no, but I don't know about right now with all the publicity and…"

Crap. "But if you disappear then you'll just raise more questions, you know that as well as I do." Panic. He as flat out scared.

"I screwed up, Dick. I was the one who screwed up in the hospital. If I hadn't…"

Enough of this, they were going in circles and it would get them nowhere. Much as he loved Roy, this hand holding, neediness was getting tired and had been for a while now. "But you did and we'll dealing with it and it's going to turn out to be for the best. What? You thought we could just roll along forever in the damn closet? And you think you'd really want to even if we could? I wouldn't. I hated lying and hiding—it's bullshit and we both know we're not doing anything wrong." He put his hand on Roy's shoulder—their bodies at a respectable distance through habit. Anyone looking would have thought they were just two friends talking over some kind of minor argument of some kind. "So you're scared and you want to run away. C'mon, that's bullshit and you know it. Besides, you're a Titan, remember? You're tougher than this, man. If you weren't do you think I'd be wasting my time with you?"

"But…"

"Fuck 'but'. I love you, you love me. We just got outted in the most public outting in the history of the world and _now_ you're getting cold feet? Screw that, Roy. Get back in the car and we're going home to get back to our lives without the drama queen crap—which is wearing pretty damn thin."

Look, Dick…"

Okay, the sixty-four dollar question. "Don't you want to?"

"I don't want to go back to the Manor." He saw the look on Dick's face, the hurt mixed with anger. "No, that's not what I mean. Okay, no I don't want to go back to the Manor but what I would like is to go back to our own place without Bruce and Alfred and whoever the hell else always hanging around. I want our own place. I want us to be able to be together without people looking over our shoulders all the time."

"We're sixteen years old and we've had this conversation. If we leave the Manor now we also leave the security it provides. We'd be wide open to all the crap without anything as a buffer. We'd have to deal with the damn reporters and the paparazzi and everything else and we'd both hate that."

"The apartment over the garage, the chauffer's apartment, we can move there even if Bruce doesn't like it. C'mon, Dick—it'll be better for us. We'll have real privacy."

Whatever. It didn't mater right now, just as long as Roy came home with him and they could go back to what they had before everything hit the fan. "Sure, we can do that." Dick looked over at the old car. "Let's go home." He moved next to Roy, almost touching, the hell what anyone in the parking lot thought.

Roy hung back, hesitating and glancing to his right. "Is Clark listening?"

"Probably, but it doesn't matter if he is, you know he won't say anything to anybody."

"I'm really scared, Dick." His face looked like it. "This is getting so much fucking bigger than just us—it's us and the press and the JLA and Ollie and Bruce and the whole fucking world. This isn't what we signed on for, y'know?"

Jesus. "It's what we make it Roy. People take their cues from us. If we're cool with it, other people will be cool with it." Not shit, Sherlock. This was basic stuff.

"Yeah, but…

"No 'but. If we're okay with this, other people will be too. Now let's get in the car and go home."

"Look, I don't know…"

"Christ, Roy, what's the problem here? I mean, c'mon. You're scared? So am I about what's going to happen. You think I have any idea about how much crap we're going to have to deal with? Hell, we've been dealing with the press and the public for years and you know as well as I do that you set the tone. If we're okay with this, if our friends are okay with it and if we just go about out business then it will be all right." Roy's face was getting redder by the second and whether it was from anger at being called on his bullshit or something else was anyone's guess. "Is that the problem, Roy? Or have you just changed your mind because it's getting harder and the idea that it's out in the open means it's harder to walk out on me when you find a fly in your damn soup?" Now Dick was getting worried about where this was going. "Are you saying you want to end this? Is that it?"

Roy took a couple seconds to long to answer.

Dick nodded. "I see. Okay, fine." He turned, started to walk over to Clark.

"Wait." Dick stopped and turned back, annoyed and tired of this but Roy tried to explain; "I don't want to end this and I want us together, but this is just all such…I need a break from this. I need some breathing room for a few days."

"Alone?"

Roy took two steps closer to Dick. "Come with me." Another step. "Please. We'll just drive; take a road trip together."

"You're sure? You're sure you want company?"

"I want you're company, yes and I want to talk everything out, make real plans—not the pie in the sky stuff." He gave that sudden smart ass grin. "It'll be like a honeymoon, honey."

"Without family and the press watching, right?"

"With any luck, you got it." Roy nodded over at Clark, acknowledging he was there, thanking him and telling him he could go do something more important than babysitting the two of them.

Dick saw Clark looking at him for agreement and called. "I'm going to get a ride with Roy, okay? I'll let you know where we are and we'll be back in a week or two. Tell Bruce, okay? Everything's okay and we'll be fine—nobody should worry about anything."

Clark stood up and smiled at the two boys. "You drive carefully, all right? And don't worry about the Dads; I'll talk to them later. And I'll make sure the apartment is aired out for when you get back." He smiled as he said it, gave a small wave and flew off too fast for anyone to see him leaving. He had been listening. Of course.

"Road trip? Where?" Dick had a small smile on his face, hand almost, but not quite brushing Roy's.

"I dunno, where would you like to go?" His hand made contact with Dick's, just a light brushing.

Dick shrugged slightly. "I hear Haley's circus is playing Altoona this week; you ever see a circus?"

"Like with elephants and clowns and stuff? No, never have, actually." He glanced around then kissed Dick on the mouth for a few seconds. "Fight over?"

"Seems like. Circus?" Dick wrapped his fingers around Roy's, screw anyone who might be watching.

"Then a few more sights, then back to our place and I get a new job while you finish school."

"Sounds like a plan. But let's get food first and Roy? Next time you have a tantrum, stick a sock in it and suck it up, okay? This wasn't exactly a job for Superman."

9/2/06

11


End file.
